APRIl's adventures in wanderland

I cannot count how many times people have uttered the word Amish since I announced my move to Lancaster back in September. These conversations normally forewarned that I was headed for “Amish country.” My grandmother, however, directly inquired of my dad whether her oldest granddaughter was in fact, turning Amish.

This time four years ago, I was all too familiar with waking up at unreasonable hours.

My usual shift began between 7:15 and 7:30am, with the route for Coronado starting at 6:18. My alarm was always set for 5, though weeks of being physically drained had taken its toll and I now woke up at 4am after falling asleep around 7 or 8pm.

For the first part of last year, I’d often be awake at 6 to catch the bus to catch the train to make my shift at 8:30am. There was one day where I worked a 13.5 hour shift, standing.

Still, none of my shifts ever started before 7am - until yesterday, when I worked the earliest and longest shift of my life. (Thankfully, I sat for this one.)

Somehow, a year has come and gone since the day I watched the Emerald Isle disappear into the clouds.

It was difficult to say goodbye. I’d made friends there. I’d created a family. I attended a church I loved. I’d worked three jobs, one of which finally put me in my field, however temporarily. My life was there, in that county known as Cork.

The first time post-infancy that I stepped foot on a plane. It was love at first sight. (1994)

Melanie Martin was so cool, 10-year-old me thought as I dove into another Martin adventure. Carol Weston’s adventurous Mel and her brother, Matt the Bratt, had already been to Italy, Spain, the Netherlands and of course New York by the time she was 11. I could only dream of such things.